


We All Must Go

by Napkin32



Category: Original Work
Genre: Angst, Character Death, Dark, Flashbacks, Mystery, One Shot, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-02
Updated: 2019-11-02
Packaged: 2021-01-18 19:55:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21282377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Napkin32/pseuds/Napkin32
Summary: There's a man with a mask pulling you into a mansion. What happens now?
Kudos: 1





	We All Must Go

“...Who am I?” An eerily giddy voice sounds as it repeats your question. “That’s not important. What’s important is who are you?” Before receiving a response, the cloaked figure before you reaches out a hand and pulls you forwards with a startling amount of force. “Ah, but alas, we do not have time for trivialities. You must go soon, but I was just so lonely; I had to speak to you for just a bit.” The cloak is now pulling you inside of a manor, and now that you’re thinking about it, you don’t actually remember why you’re here.

Actually, now that you think about it. You don’t actually remember anything. Who you are. Where you are. Who the figure walking you into the door is. All you do know is that you woke up outside of a large manor and met the figure now pulling you through an ominously dark hall. For some reason, you can’t see beyond the premises of the manor. Beyond the gates is just dark, black fog.

Yet, for some reason, you aren’t panicking. Your heart isn’t racing. It’s actually beating at quite a normal pace, and you feel some odd familiarity to the figure pulling you. There’s no temptation to resist. If anything, you feel tempted to follow. To let it pull you along. Whatever’s within this mansion, beyond the door you’ve now entered, doesn’t seem important. What’s important is the figure guiding you. Upon a closer look, you realize its only dress seems to be a long black cloak and hood. Upon its face is a mask. It’s nondescript, bland really. The most noticeable feature of it is its smile, a smirk, and its upturned eyes, locked in a perpetual state of bliss.

“Ah! My apologies. Where are my manners? I must give you some basic information, don’t I? Unfortunately I can’t tell you everything, but I can tell some. This, where we are now, is my home. It’s awfully large isn’t it? It’s very lonely too. Only I live here.” The figure begins to speak suddenly, startling you from your thoughts..

“No family?” You abruptly ask.

“Family? Ah yes, that. Unfortunately not. I never really had one...” The mask contemplated.

“Oh… I’m sorry.”

“No, no! Don’t worry about it! Anyways, you asked me my name earlier, I believe. I’m afraid I can’t tell you that. Well, more accurately, I don’t have a name, only what others call me. Instead, let me show you around my house and tell you a story. It’s a good one; I assure you.” The cloaked figure suddenly turned its back and began quickly walking into a room to the side of the hall. You quickly stumble behind him, trying to keep pace. Entering it, you realize it’s a nursing room with a large painting of a baby on the wall.

“Now here begins our story.” The figure begins. “This baby will be our main character. The child had a… sad childhood though there were blips here and there. He went to elementary school, had some friends, had ups and downs. The significance that he was raised by his father. Unfortunately, he lost his mother. She left her husband and never looked back. No double birthdays, I suppose…” The figure’s body shifted suddenly, seeming to chuckle at its own, morbid joke and then began pacing towards another door in the room. “Now follow me. We’ll go into the next room”

You follow the figure into the next room which is now a bedroom. There are posters on the walls of a few bands and other miscellaneous items. They seem typical of a teenager to own. And on the wall, is another painting. This one is of a blurry figure of what is presumably a teen, crouching and miserable. Once more next to the figure, it began speaking, “Ah the teen years. They really are something aren’t they? This child, or should I say teen, had a particularly rough one. He didn’t do so well in his studies. But his home life wasn’t exactly a formula for success. His father lost his job and, well, got rather acquainted with alcohol, and his poor son had to pick up a job on the side. On the bright side, I suppose it left the teen with some character. It would explain the events later on. Now then, we are off!”

The figure once more walks to the next door. However, rather than enter another room. It opens to the outside, an alley behind the manor to be exact. However, contrary to the relative order of the mansion’s inside, the alley way is a mess. There is shattered glass strewn everywhere. A ripped piece of cloth is hanging of a piece of wood precariously pointing outwards. What happened here? A fight? “As I’m assuming you have deduced, yes. A fight did happen here,” The figure suddenly spoke as if reading your mind. “Well not here exactly. But we are now at early adulthood. Our protagonist did make it to college through hard work and the fortune of having father once more having found a job. But this alley will transform everything. It’s the moment our young protagonist’s life pivots. On the way back one night to their dorm, a fight broke out. Well less of a fight really… It was four men attacking a lone girl. Our valiant protagonist chose to protect the girl. Unfortunately the fight was too intense, and the four men were killed. I actually met those four a while ago. They were by no means a great bunch. Anyways, the girl ran off without a trace and the police arrived. Now then, onto our next destination. Mind your head.”

The figure proceeds to a latch door opening to the basement and steps inside. You, once more, unhesitatingly follow him down. Upon reaching the bottom, the figure lights a candle to reveal a large cellar reminiscent of a jail cell. “Here is the final part of our story.” The figure begins to speak, now in a much more somber tone. “Our protagonist is now imprisoned and on death row.”

“But why?” You suddenly question. It doesn’t seem fair after all.

“Why? Well imagine the scenario. Our protagonist is found by the police surrounded by four bodies and holding a shattered beer bottle. From their view, the police would be idiotic to ever let them see the light of day again. But interestingly enough, our protagonist wasn’t angry. He wasn’t upset. When the time came, he welcomed death. So different from the rest of humanity. In a way, he lost his belief in humanity but yet, he never lost belief in himself. He did what was right after all. That moment is when I met him; I heard his call and wanted to meet this fellow for myself. And I must say, You do not disappoint. You welcomed me, and you impress me even now.”  
“I… Impress you? Wait…” Suddenly, you begin remembering something but it’s still all a noncoherent blur.

“Oh? You’re remembering, I see. Allow me to lend you a hand.” The masked figure suddenly reaches a gloved hand out onto your forehead and you remember everything. You were left by your mother when you were 6. At 16, your father lost his job and became an alcoholic. You had to pick up a job for your family to stay afloat. You and your father eventually scraped together enough money to pay for your college tuition. At 22, in your junior year of college, you witnessed four men assaulting a girl and stepped in to help her. You killed the four men, and the girl got away. However, the police arrived and arrested you. Because of a lack of witnesses for your side, you were convicted for four counts of second degree murder and put on death row. At 24, you were executed. But right before your vision turned dark, you saw the smiling, cloaked figure now standing in front of you.

And now your vision is turning black again. Once more, Death is smiling down on you.

“I pity your injustice, but we all must go eventually, some sooner than others. Now goodnight.”

**Author's Note:**

> This a one-shot of a concept that I found intriguing. The execution went slightly poorly though, but practice makes perfect I suppose.


End file.
